


That Can Be Counted

by Eustacia Vye (eustaciavye)



Series: Walking In Truth [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Con Artists, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-08
Updated: 2013-01-08
Packaged: 2017-11-24 03:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eustaciavye/pseuds/Eustacia%20Vye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Eleanor decided to leave the CIA, she didn't expect to be drawn even further into the life of a forger with questionable ethics. Or enjoy it as much as she did...</p><p> </p><p>For the prompt <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/19632.html?thread=47684784#t47684784">Eames and Ariadne decide/ are forced to have a marriage of convenience and they discover that this involves a kind of intimacy that makes them start to grow very(!) fond of each other.</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	That Can Be Counted

Not everything that can be counted counts; and not everything that counts can be counted.  
— Albert Einstein

Eleanor Lewis, formerly of the CIA, sat near a sidewalk café in Mombasa, Kenya with two known dream share criminals she had refused to turn in.

They waited for a third, and Eleanor idly wondered how she had come to this point as she stirred her coffee. She had always believed in upholding the law, in truth and justice. She'd thought she had known what that was, but going undercover as Ariadne had turned everything upside down. Everything the CIA had known regarding dream share had been wrong, and it made her wonder what else they had been wrong about. What lies were hidden within the layers of government bureaucracy? What else had she been lied to about?

The soul searching was long and draining, and Eleanor still wasn't entirely sure she was doing the right thing. Defecting _felt_ right, but she was moving to the wrong side of the law. In what universe was that the right thing to do?

"You're thinking too hard," Arthur chided her, reaching for his coffee.

Yusuf snorted, a fond smile on his face. "Life altering decisions are not easily made, you know." He looked around the café, seeming surprised at how quiet it was. "Was Cobb the only one that Cobol was so eager to obtain? Why is it that you can visit with impunity?"

Arthur's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Cobol had a different identity on their payroll. He died under suspicious circumstances a month ago, actually. Plus, most of the hired hands never got a good look at me since they were so focused on Cobb. He never bothered to set up alternate identities like I told him to."

"Ah. That explains it."

Turning toward Eleanor, Arthur sipped his coffee slowly, savoring the brew. "So what name are you going to use? Did Eames tell you what he's putting on the paperwork?"

"He said he would surprise me," Eleanor replied. She couldn't be Eleanor Lewis anymore, and Ariadne was known to the CIA and therefore useless. She had two uncompromised identities, but they were not as fully fleshed out as she would like. Eames had offered to build her an entire life, not just a collection of passports. She gave Arthur a quirk of a smile. "I was actually afraid to even ask for hints."

Yusuf snorted and gave her an affectionate little smile. "You know him well enough by now, then. Wise of you."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll do a good job," Arthur said. "He might be an utter bastard, but he knows his craft. The identity he makes for you will be flawless. It's a point of professional pride, I suppose." There was an almost predatory smirk on his face, reminding Eleanor that the two weren't exactly friends and only worked together when they had to. "You've never seen his work up close, but it fools even trained professionals," Arthur replied easily, soothing the anxiety she hadn't realized was building. Once Eleanor had made the decision to fall into dream share with them, the tension between them vanish. Though he wore his usual clothing, Eleanor could see him sprawled across a chair in jeans and a ratty T shirt in his family's home in Chicago. He smiled at her wide enough for a dimple to show and the corners of his eyes to crinkle warmly. "You'll have a new identity that will convince even your former associates that you are exactly who it says on the documents."

"I should find that concept more disturbing than I do," Eleanor murmured.

"Probably," Arthur agreed. "If you were planning on ever returning to the CIA or your family."

Eleanor flicked her eyes toward Yusuf, who didn't seem perturbed either. "Are there a lot of former agents out there?" she asked, feeling somewhat awkward. She was perfectly comfortable with these men as Ariadne, but as herself didn't know where she stood.

No, that wasn't quite right. They both liked her and wanted her to stay in dream share, no matter what name she used. She was the awkward one now, unsure how to act. Eleanor had kissed both Arthur and Eames, and was sure that their interest in her was more than strictly friendly. Eleanor didn't even know where her own feelings were directed. She cared about them both far too much, and her dreams lately had been haunted by sensations and half formed statements of love.

Love. To be perfectly honest, that concept _terrified_ her. She had been alone for far too long, and she was wary of the trap that affection could be. Her own upbringing had been distant and undemonstrative, so she wasn't sure what would even be appropriate. Prior attempts at relationships had been fumbling at best, with former boyfriends declaring her frigid or uncaring. Work was safer, easier to navigate. She wanted more, though she didn't know how to get there without losing herself in the process. Arthur sometimes seemed to be in the same position, yet he made it look easy to balance everything.

Yusuf finished off his lunch and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his belly. He had left his glasses behind in his shop, but still looked very much like a professor about to give an important lecture. "There are many in Mombasa who have changed direction in their lives. Some might be CIA, FSB, Interpol, BND, DRM, CIB, Mossad, even our own NSIS right here in Kenya... This city is a crossroads, a blend of the old and new. Many peoples come here. It is a place to blend in and disappear, just as it can be a place to develop new associates and contacts. Dream share came to Kenya years ago, you understand. It has become just another tool in the arsenal, another way to get what you need." He unfolded his hands from his belly and smiled warmly at her. "You have a place here, my friend. You will find what you want, just as we did."

Eleanor smiled at him and finished her coffee. "Thank you, Yusuf. I guess I needed that."

"Of course you did. As I said, life changing decisions are not easily accepted, even if there truly was no other outcome." Yusuf wagged a finger at Arthur in mocking admonishment. "This one has been in the game for so long I don't think he realizes what it's like to be new."

"For someone that hasn't known me very long, you're not too far off the mark," Arthur commented. He shrugged. "Ex-military. There's a certain amount of jadedness and suspicion at the heart of those that were involved in the PASIV program there. It takes resilience, stubbornness and flexibility to survive that kind of atmosphere." He looked over at Eleanor. "I'm sorry, Eleanor. Sometimes I forget that there are other ways people reach this place."

"You didn't make me leave the CIA," she murmured, shaking her head. "Not entirely, anyway."

He grinned at her, dimple winking. "I am glad I was part of it."

Yusuf laughed at Eleanor's embarrassed head bob, then waved over the man they were waiting for. "Over here, my friend. We'd all but given up hope."

Eames strode over to their table with confident strides and a jaunty grin. "You know me far too well for that, Yusuf," he replied with a knowing smile, sitting down between the men. He nodded amiably at Arthur, who quirked an eyebrow in response. "There was not only time to gather together an entire lifetime in paperwork," he said, passing an accordion folder to Eleanor, "but also get a lead on a little job I'd like to do. Any one of you could go in with me, but it's not anything involved with dream share at the moment."

"I won't leave my den to enter the field," Yusuf reminded him. "Paris was an anomaly. I wanted to see the city and experience an inception. I have no desire to go through that on a regular basis, you understand."

Nodding, Eames looked at Eleanor and Arthur. "Well?"

Arthur merely shrugged. "I've been on a break long enough. I might have something lined up, but I'd have to see if my contact in the DOJ actually cleared out the flags I found."

"So that's a 'no,'" Eames drawled. He leaned in close to Eleanor, and the smell of his cologne made her heart beat faster. She glanced away. "I know for a fact you haven't anything in particular lined up. What do you say?"

"What's the job?" she asked instead of giving an immediate affirmative. Just because she was cast adrift from her old life didn't mean that she was a complete ingénue.

He laughed and threw an arm around her shoulders in a too-familiar gesture. "Darling. Don't you trust me?" he asked, that flirtatious smile fixed firmly in place.

"Only as far as I can throw you. Maybe." She resisted the urge to push Eames back and lifted her chin to stare him down.

If anything, that only made Eames laugh even harder. "It's going to be utterly _delicious,_ my dear," he told her. His breath was warm against her cheek and Eleanor wondered why Arthur was smiling at her and shaking his head. Her heart clenched in her chest, and she was left feeling like a fool, careening between the two men. Neither seemed to mind the casual flirting they each did with her, and Yusuf seemed to take it in stride as if this was an ordinary occurrence. Maybe it was, and she wasn't special. Or maybe this was their way to draw her further in.

She was already caught. They didn't have to keep working this hard.

"So what is it?" she asked, hoping she sounded less churlish than she felt.

Eames only smiled. "It's a long con. I'm fairly sure you can handle it, darling." It was a subtle dig, one that left Eleanor's insides twisted into knots of rancor. "The payoff is worth the risk, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather do this job with."

"Other than Arthur or Yusuf," Eleanor pointed out archly.

"Oh, I knew they'd refuse. But it's impolite to offer a job to only one companion when others are present." Eames' eyes twinkled. "Really, this was a job offer that they wouldn't be a good fit for anyhow. For you, it's perfect."

"Oh? Why is that?" She didn't want to admit how curious he was making her, but Eames was an expert at reading people and she was sure he already knew.

His grin was sly and seductive, his voice lowered to a sensual purr that sent a thrill through her. "Because I need a bride, and you need a fresh start. It's quite the win-win situation for us both."

"What?" _A bride?_ She met his gaze head on, as if her heart wasn't beating a staccato rhythm of need and uncertainty. It was a job. Just a job. "And the payout?"

"Your share would be close to five million Euros when we're done."

Her breath stopped in her chest. That was a lot of money, and with it she could start again.

"Well, then," she said, gathering her thoughts. "Tell me the details. And Eames? You better not snore."

***

The pharmaceutical industry was a lucrative target for corporate espionage circles within the underground, as there were millions and billions of dollars in investments and proprietary information. Eames had a line into a subsidiary company as an investment broker; the necessary bride for the job would be the interior decorator that was helping to redo the main offices for the vice president of acquisitions. Between the two of them, they would be able to locate the physical locations of safes as well as determine which of the company assets were likely targets for extraction. Subsidiary companies didn't often have as many security defenses in place, but Eames was fairly confident that he would be able to trace enough information back to the parent big pharma corporation for an even larger payout.

As far as Eleanor was concerned, it was a job with far too many "what ifs" and uncertainty about it. Eames merely laughed when she pointed that out, stating that it was a lot more solid than some of the other long cons he had done in the past.

You could take the woman out of the CIA, but you couldn't take the CIA out of the woman. Her mind filed away the details and the allusions he made, though there was nothing she could do about it right now.

The Netherlands were beautiful, and Amsterdam was considered the financial and business capital of that country. It was so close yet at the same time so far away from the other invented persona that Eleanor had lived in. She stood in one of the windows of the rented apartment, staring at the passersby without really seeing them. They were small inconsequential things, something for her eyes to light on for a few seconds before glossing over them and dismissing them as irrelevant. She had done this often while trying to piece together disparate bits of data, waiting for her mind to make some kind of dizzying logic leap.

But there was none to be made here. Another name, another place, another lie to live for several months until she was able to strip it back and become herself again, whoever that was. She didn't know how the others were able to keep track of that so flawlessly and painlessly, though she supposed Arthur didn't really become someone else. He had different names and identities on paper only, and all he had to do was shuffle a deck of passports. Eames on the other hand crafted personalities to go with his new names, and he had done the same for her.

Eliza Springer had a whole host of contacts and certification regarding interior design, though it wasn't nearly as stringent a field as architecture was. She had actually read architecture journals and texts to try to prepare for her role as Ariadne, and spent time auditing classes at a BFA program. Eleanor didn't want to do the same to become Eliza, though it seemed as though she could rely on most of Ariadne's skills. Eames had done that deliberately, she knew. She didn't want to be overly grateful to him even if she was.

"I don't think I ever realized you were such a thinker," Eames said, coming up behind her. His hands were on her shoulders before she even realized he was there, startling her. "Pretty deep thoughts, then? More of a pound's worth than a penny?"

Eleanor blinked, then turned to face him. Somehow she was standing with his arms on either side of her, the wall next to the window pressed flush against her back. "No, not necessarily. Just taking in the view."

"You do so love Method acting, don't you?" he teased, eyes twinkling. "Immersing yourself in the role? Truly becoming someone else? Perhaps we're not so different after all."

Something in her gut clenched at the words, even if they were true. "Maybe," she said, voice soft. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but she thought she sounded lost.

Eames ran a hand through her hair, palm sliding across her cheek. "Darling. You think too much about the things that cease to matter and not enough about the things that should matter to you now. It's not a list. It's not something you can tally up for a final count." His body pressed in close to hers, one thigh pressed up against her crotch. He pivoted slightly over the ball of his foot, his thigh rubbing her sex through her jeans. "You've fallen, but you're still so frightened of it." He leaned in close, lips hovering over hers. "Are you frightened of me, darling?"

"You don't scare me," Eleanor said.

He laughed and pressed his lips against hers. It was gentle, undemanding. She could move if she wanted to, push him away and run.

When he pulled back, there was a knowing smile on his lips. "Don't I?"

"You're just a man. Same weak spots as any other."

Something shifted in his eyes, and Eleanor couldn't name the emotion that she thought she saw. "Not precisely."

Eleanor pressed her hand flat against his chest, her heart beating so hard she thought it would break through her ribcage. She didn't know what this little dance was about, and she was starting to think that romantic relationships simply weren't worth the effort. "I'm tired."

His eyes searched her face. "I suppose you are. You take the bedroom. I'll be out here for a while yet."

"And then where will you sleep?"

Eames' lip quirked. "Are you inviting me to your bed?"

"No, I'm not." There was no flush across her cheeks at least. She may have been attracted to him from the start, but giving up some of her newfound freedom to play these kinds of games was not part of her plan.

"Pity," he murmured, stepping back. "Then you rest. And in the morning, I'll wake Eliza."

Her chest tightened for a moment, but Eleanor nodded.

Soon enough, she would be someone else again. There was a trick to it, she knew. There was always a trick to it, if only she could remember how it worked the first time.

***

Eliza looked over the office space and visibly struggled not to gape. "This is monstrous," she told Andrei Gollhardt, Senior Vice President of Acquisitions. He was an older gentleman whose body was starting to run to paunch, with a receding hairline, limpid blue eyes and suits that didn't quite make him look distinguished. "No, you don't understand. This is not a good thing at all." She shook her head and waved her arms around the overlarge office. "All this space, and you do nothing with it. Even negative space has a function and a use, but it's not being put to effective use here."

"Mrs. Springer," Gollhardt began. He was very much a man not used to being contradicted.

She waved a hand at him, not impressed. "What do you see when you look at your office, Mr. Gollhardt? What impression are you trying to make here?"

He blinked in surprise. "I'm the Vice President of Acquisitions. I don't need to make an impression."

Eliza gave a dramatic sigh. "And that is where you're wrong, and why this space doesn't work for you. You want your office to have an atmosphere. A feel that will convey the kind of Vice President you are. You want to give a hint of your personality in the space, even if you don't have personal items around." She looked around pointedly. "Most of the people you've worked with before haven't seemed overly confident in you, have they?"

"Well, no," Gollhardt replied, nonplused. "But there are still contracts and..."

"Yes, well, I don't need to understand that part," Eliza told him dismissively. "Do you know what I see when I look at this space?" She waited until Gollhardt shook his head. "Someone temporary. There's no life here. It's impersonal and is ostentatious in an almost offensive way. There are much subtler ways of displaying wealth and power than chrome and glass. Plus, this is not your style at all, I can tell."

"And what is that, then?"

"Classic," Eliza said flatly. "I can picture more of a rolltop side desk, mahogany or cherry woods and perhaps leather accents. Maybe I can find teak. That would be impressive without being so over the top that clients won't take you seriously. Then there's the artwork. Or lack thereof. There's only the one painting there, and it's so bland it's laughable. It might as well not even be there..." Eliza strode forward before Gollhardt could stop her and lifted the edge of the picture's frame from the wall.

He protested and pulled her arm back, but not before she caught the glimpse of brushed metal beneath the edge of the picture frame. She had to assume that it was a wall safe.

"Mr. Gollhardt!" Eliza snapped. "That is highly irregular behavior and not at all what I'd expect from you!"

Gollhardt was chastened but didn't let her touch the frame again. "I am very sorry, Mrs. Springer. You have very much made your point about this office." He looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Perhaps he was. "I must admit, I never gave thought to what it looked like. It's functional."

Eliza gave him a magnanimous smile, as if his earlier behavior was forgotten. "Of course it is. We can just add _more_ function to it."

He seemed pleased by that comment, and they walked over to the massive glass and steel desk to discuss timelines and price points. Eames was going through orientation as Patrick Springer, investment broker. A few weeks would buy them both the time to get what they needed.

Eleanor didn't want to think about the future beyond that.

***

Eames watched her with heavy lidded eyes as she rifled through the bedroom closet. He was sprawled across the bed, a smirk twisting his lips. "You have a very professional wardrobe, darling. You needn't worry about it."

Eliza was entirely too aware of his sprawled body on the queen sized bed. She was sure he was checking out her ass, but didn't want to turn around to confirm it. He ogled just about anything that moved, though most of the time it wasn't serious. They were supposed to be married, and the awkwardness of the night before was still with her. "Did the orientation go well?" she asked, glad her voice was even.

He chuckled softly. "Oh, I've been an investment banker before. Mergers, acquisitions, wins, losses... it's all the same, really. Just different labels to give it the air of legitimacy." Eames came up behind her. "That suit is lovely, Eliza."

Her hand tightened on a sleeve. "You don't have to call me by that name when we're alone together, you know."

Eames laughed at the bristling tone she took with him and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Should I call you Ariadne, then?" he asked, voice soft and deceptively mild. "Eleanor? Vivian? Heather? Jeanine? I forget which profiles you actually used and which ones were simply the false ones I created for you."

She turned and looked at him, her jaw set in frustration and anger. She blinked furiously, determined not to cry like some kind of little girl being mocked by the class bully. "I'm not Eliza. Eliza isn't real."

"She can be. If you want her to be."

Eleanor pushed past him and headed for the bathroom. She ignored him when he followed her and focused on washing her face with cleanser. Of course he watched her do that, too, eyes tracking every jerky motion. He stood there, silent and still in the doorway, watching as she moved on to brush her teeth. She avoided looking at him in the mirror, focusing on the simple task.

"I'm not going away just because you don't want to look at me."

She didn't grace that with a reply. As she spit, she tried to figure out a way to push past him and lock him out of the bedroom. Unfortunately, there was no lock on the door; she doubted any lock could keep him out if he truly wanted to enter.

"You're Eliza for the course of this job," Eames said softly. When she didn't reply, he stepped into the bathroom. "Eliza Springer, wife of Patrick Springer. _Wife."_

Eleanor spat out foamy toothpaste and glared at him. "What do you want from me?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound as hysterical as she felt. "I'm here, I'm doing this. I'm breaking God knows how many laws..."

Eames plucked the toothbrush from her hand and put it aside. He didn't look particularly pleased with her response. If anything, he looked a little sad. "You are more than the sum of laws, Eleanor," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to her crown. "You know that, deep down. It's why you belong with us. You only feel alive when you're actually living, when you're more than a paper pusher following the letter of the law." His hand brushed down her spine, making her shiver. "It will take time to get over this conflict, I know that. But it helps more if you talk about what's going on, rather than glaring daggers at me as if I'm the one at fault."

"You're part of it."

"I didn't make you choose," he pointed out reasonably.

She closed her eyes, feeling unshed tears burn against her eyelids. "No, you didn't."

"You've already fallen, darling," Eames murmured into her hair, his hand warm and comforting along the curve of her back. "You've chosen, and this is the path your heart takes you on. Listen to it. We'll be all right."

She had the bathroom counter caught in her hands, and she stared at her own white-knuckled grip. She looked at Eames in the mirror, her curling hair obscuring part of her vision. "How can you say that for certain?"

"I suppose I can't. But I'd be more worried about you if you were blithely charging ahead without any thought to the impact you're making. That's not you, after all. You're still the same woman, no matter what name or skill set we give you. At the heart of you, you're the same. That's the part that matters, and that's the part that gives a shit what happens." His eyes bored into hers, unwavering and sure. "I trust you, Eleanor. I know you'll complete this job. You said you would and you can't do anything halfway."

He shifted his hand from the base of her spine to her hip, fingers brushing against the front of her jeans. She managed not to gasp at the sudden flare of heat shooting through her at the contact. "I'll be here with you the entire way. You're not doing this alone."

She knew that, of course. That was actually part of the problem.

***

Eleanor woke in a panic, unable to remember where she was or what was happening. Her dreams had been a tangled mess of fearful images, and her parents' stern faces looking at her in disappointment. She didn't recognize the shadows on the ceiling and there was an arm and a leg flung across her body, holding her down. She barely suppressed a scream. Her sleeping companion woke, whose face resolved into Eames'.

Everything flooded back and shame washed over her. She was supposed to be better than this. She was a former CIA agent, for fuck's sake. Before taking on the dream share assignment, she had handled dangerous situations without any of it touching her psyche.

Unless that was the problem, and it was hitting her all at once now.

"What happened?" he asked, instantly awake and concerned for her.

"Nightmare," she managed to say. "Sorry to wake you." Her voice sounded scratchy and hoarse, as if she had actually voiced the screams she held inside. It was odd, really. She couldn't remember what was so terrifying about the darkness, why the pale faces staring at her with hollow eyes had made her want to claw her chest open.

Eames shifted position on the bed and trailed his fingers down her cheek tenderly. "What did they make you do before, Eleanor? What horrible things did you have to do in the name of law and country?"

"I need to go," she said abruptly, sliding out from beneath him and heading to the bathroom. The light she snapped on was too bright, almost blinding, and she felt as if she was choking.

He was sitting up in bed when she got back, bare chest visible above the sheet. He had been true to his word and was a perfect gentleman when they had gone to bed, backs to each other as if merely sleeping with someone whom you were attracted to and pretending married with was an everyday occurrence. He had turned on the bedside lamp, and its soft glow lit the room just enough so she could see where she was going. It was a thoughtful gesture, and her throat felt tight. Former boyfriends never remembered how hard it was to see after turning on the lights, had left her stumbling forward with halting steps, barely remembering where furniture was in her own bedroom.

"Will you be able to sleep?" he asked, voice soft and gentle. She couldn't meet his eyes, didn't want the concern from him even as she craved it more than she could ever voice. She shouldn't have agreed to this job so soon after having her former identity exposed. That had been her first mission with a cover identity that in-depth, and for a while she had even started thinking like Ariadne. She needed time to catch her breath and regain her equilibrium. Eleanor wasn't like Eames, after all. She didn't bounce from name to name to name, didn't trot out across the globe with a smattering of different languages and a pocket full of contacts.

But she had an imagination and was a dreamer, both of which had been valuable assets to the CIA. They hadn't thought twice about winding her up and pushing her out into the world with nothing but limited scraps background knowledge. Eleanor knew better than to trust the higher ups, yet somehow she had still believed that they knew what dream share was like. She had relied on the law to be right, but reality was very different from textbook situations.

"I don't know. Maybe," she said finally, sliding into bed beside him.

Eames pulled her against his chest, touch gentle and soothing. His heart beat steadily beneath her ear, and she closed her eyes to listen to its rhythm. His fingers carded through her hair, catching in tangles. "I'll watch over you, no matter what name you use," he promised her.

"Why?" she whispered, hesitantly placing her hand on his chest.

"Because I like you," he answered. She could hear the smile in his voice even if she didn't look up to see it. He reached for her hand, linking his fingers through hers. "There are few enough people in the world that I can say that about, you understand. I can count them on one hand and still have fingers left over."

"Yusuf and Arthur," she guessed, feeling a lump form in her throat. How sad. Was that what her life would become?

"Well, Yusuf and I are close, yes. Arthur's not a friend by any stretch of the imagination. He's reliable in that once he gives you his word he will move heaven and earth to fulfill that promise. Otherwise, he keeps his thoughts very close to his chest. I don't think he trusts _anyone_ in the business." Eames wiggled his fingers between hers. "I've known Yusuf for a very long time, though we each have our little secrets. You have to in a business like this one." His other arm tightened around her shoulders once he stopped stroking her hair. "There are two others," he said slowly. "Though I haven't spoken with either recently. I'd add you to the list, of course."

Eleanor opened her eyes and looked up at him in concern, the lamplight casting odd shadows over his features. "I'm in a similar place, aren't I? Too few people I can rely on?"

"If it wasn't like that before," Eames pointed out reasonably, "you wouldn't have left the CIA in the scorched-earth manner that you did. You broke ties with _everyone_ you once knew, Eleanor. No one comes to this life that way if there were reasons to stay in your old one."

"What were your reasons for getting into dream share, then?" she asked without thinking.

Pain flashed in his features before his expression hardened. Then it slipped into one of bland indifference. Fascinating. "I was a soldier," he said simply. He wasn't looking at her, but off in the corner where the shadows gathered thick and dark. "Once." His eyes were unfocused and his voice distant.

"Arthur mentioned that PASIV technology had come from the military."

"Yes. It did. It wasn't nearly so pleasant then," he remarked, looking down at Eleanor. "The charming Mrs. Cobb was nothing to what the military did with the technology." Eames flashed her a brilliant smile, though Eleanor knew it was a mask. He let his fingers trail along her shoulder lightly. "Things happen for a reason, don't they?"

"I suppose they do," Eleanor replied slowly, not sure where he was going.

Eames merely nodded as if she was confirming his own thoughts. "Sleep, darling. I'll watch over you. No more nightmares tonight."

"Do you get nightmares?" she asked abruptly.

"I don't dream naturally," he replied, shoulders lifting in the barest of shrugs. "I will say I don't miss it."

"Just as well, then, given what you've been through."

His eyes were sharp as they took in her expression. "I suppose," he replied noncomittally. "Sleep. Time enough for philosophy when we're refreshed and at our best."

This time, she followed the suggestion and slept. There were no more nightmares that night.

***

Eleanor found herself staring out of the plate glass windows of Gollhardt's office. Her sketchbook was full of impossible architecture and Penrose steps, in between sketches of office arrangements, swatches of fabric and paint chips. Over the past two weeks, she had played the role of interior decorator extraordinaire as Eames navigated the financial department. He was learning the financial structure of this subsidiary company as well as its payroll and payouts. He was fairly certain he could trace out links to the parent company and that he knew whose passwords he would ultimately have to steal.

Gollhardt didn't leave Eliza alone in his office. He was trying not to make it obvious that he was watching her, but she knew that he wasn't focusing on the papers in front of him.

Somewhat irritated that she couldn't even examine the safe, Eleanor looked out of the windows. Eames couldn't make a very good guess as to the brand of safe from the vague description of size and type of metal she had glimpsed. With the way Gollhardt was acting, they'd have to break in after hours. Eames might enjoy that kind of thing, but Eleanor wasn't looking forward to it. She needed a lot of practice at lock picking and couldn't even begin to imagine what it would take to crack a safe.

"With all of the furniture being removed tomorrow," Gollhardt said suddenly, clearing his throat to get Eliza's attention, "I suppose you don't need to be here."

Eliza turned and looked at Gollhardt evenly. "As you can see, I take a very hands on approach. I like to make sure that I'm here if there are any last minute changes in what you need."

Gollhardt fingered the pages he hadn't been reading and sighed. "Mrs. Springer..."

"I try to be very responsible and address whatever needs my clients may have. I realize I might not have been your first choice for a designer, but I would never shirk my responsibilities in any way."

The words seemed to shame him a bit. "No, no. The designs are much better than I would have thought possible." He paused. "I didn't know what to expect, to be honest. As you could tell the first day, design matters are not part of my consideration."

"Yours is a completely different field," Eliza returned with a small smile. "I would imagine that your business notes would confuse me," she added, gesturing toward the pages in his hand.

He blinked for a moment, then nodded. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"All fields of expertise are such niche practices now," Eliza replied. "No one is a jack of all trades anymore."

Well, Eames probably was, but that was because he became so many different kinds of people. It was out of necessity.

Gollhardt's lips twisted faintly as if he tasted something sour. "I have another concern I hadn't discussed with you yet," he murmured. His eyes took in Eliza's professional expression. "I will of course ask for discretion."

"Of course. What is it? We've already discussed security and cameras..."

"I have a safe," he admitted. "The painting I'd requested that you leave untouched..."

Eliza nodded briskly. "Of course it would have to remain hidden. I assume it contains ledgers or other important business papers."

"Precisely," Gollhardt said, though he sounded relieved that Eliza hadn't asked to see it for herself.

"If you have some kind of documentation on it, make and model, dimensions, that sort of thing, I can look for replacement art that is more in keeping with the overall feel of your new office," Eliza remarked, flipping her notebook open to a fresh page. The blank emptiness of it mocked her, and her fingers itched to sketch sheer cliffs and staircases across it. Gollhardt was nodding at her, but she paid him only nominal attention. "We can also rearrange the furniture so that the art is less of a prominent visual point than it is in the current configuration," Eliza continued. She moved to sit down across from Gollhardt and let her pen fly across the page. "Just a little de-emphasis and then it will make it seem as though you're more personable, more interested in those visiting your office. That area is more of an afterthought, something to add to extra space in your office that you don't need." Gollhardt would never be confused with someone warm and cuddly, but she could craft the illusion of it.

He was suitably impressed, and had his secretary give her whatever information she wanted short of the combination for the safe's lock.

Somehow, Eleanor was sure Eames would figure it out on his own.

***

"You see? Given enough time, anyone would trust you," Eames remarked, sliding his fingers along the slope of her neck. Eleanor managed not to shiver at his touch or look affected. Funny how sleeping in the same bed with Eames didn't render her immune to his touch. She felt just as sensitized as when the Ariadne persona had been first stripped away.

He filled her dreams, larger than life, and she wanted to hate him for inspiring her lust. It was his fault that she had pulled down the detachable showerhead so that the jet hit her _just right_. She had been able to tolerate the frustration as Ariadne, though she hadn't lived practically in his pocket.

"So can you crack it?" she asked him, ruthlessly pushing her hormones aside.

"You should know me well enough by now, darling," he told her with a smirk. His fingers stroked the back of her neck idly, and Eleanor was starting to regret putting up her hair. But it was warm in the apartment, and she hadn't wanted to look over the safe schematics with her long hair sticking to the back of her neck. Eames was standing behind her rather than sitting beside her at the table like any normal person. The better to taunt her, of course.

"That's not an answer."

Eames bent down so that his lips were next to her ear. "Oh, but it is, my darling wife. I am a repository of quite a few lost skills, safecracking among them." He licked the shell of her ear, and her hand tightened in her lap. "Aren't you the least bit curious what else I could do?"

"Finding out would come with a price, wouldn't it?" she asked archly.

"You wound me, darling," he replied. "Is everything all about the cost?"

"Isn't it?"

He closed his lips around her earlobe and sucked gently as his hands slid along her collarbones, fingers dipping below the collar of her shirt. Eleanor couldn't stop the shiver this time, nor the way her breath caught at the erotic contact. She was built small and petite, and he was anything but. His fingers brushed across the slight rise of her breasts, though they remained over the fabric of her bra. Part of her despaired at that, though another part was glad he wasn't pushing her too hard. Yet.

"Sometimes it's enough to feel," he murmured against the side of her skull, right next to her ear. His hands made circular motions along her skin, right where she was sensitive, where she had gasped before. Eames had paid attention, as he always did, and Eleanor had almost forgotten about his sharp observation skills. "Can't you feel what's between us, wife?"

That last word was like a bucket of cold water thrown at her face. Eleanor abruptly pulled away from him and headed to the kitchen for a drink. There was a confused expression on his face, and Eleanor squelched the urge to go back and smooth it away. This was a game, she reminded herself. This was all a fucked up game he was playing with her, likely in revenge for trying to play him first. He was dangerous and she couldn't afford to forget that.

Eames followed her to the kitchen, crowding her against the counter as she had a glass of juice. "What is it, Eleanor?" he asked, brows furrowed as he contemplated her blank expression. "What just happened?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked evenly, that same blank expression on her face. She wouldn't give a thing away if she could help it. It was the last defense that she had.

"Why are you running from me?" he asked, eyes dark as he searched her face. "What happened?" He reached forward to grasp the counter, locking her in even more tightly. "There's no one else you fancy, is there? You hadn't gotten any farther with Arthur, I know that much."

Her breath felt frozen in her chest. "Is this all a contest for you, then?" she asked icily, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not something to be won."

"Oh, I disagree, darling," Eames said, his voice a low growl of need. He seized the back of her head with his other hand and pulled her forward as his head bent down toward hers. Eleanor pushed against his chest, feeling a solid wall of muscle there. His kiss was punishing and full of need, tongue sweeping across her lips and into mouth when she gasped in outrage. She could push back if she wanted to, stomp on his instep or jerk her knee into his groin if he wouldn't let go of her. She didn't have to give in on his say so.

Part of her wanted to give in so badly. What would be the harm? Eleanor could take him inside of her, run her fingers along his back and rake a trail down his spine. He would give as good as he got, and she had the feeling he would be a generous lover. It wouldn't have to mean anything if she didn't want it to.

But that left her feeling hollow. With everything else that was false around her, she wanted _something_ real.

Eames let the kiss end slowly, eyes heavy lidded with desire as he looked down at her. "What do you want, Eleanor? What do you really want from all of this? Dreaming is one thing. So much more lies in store if you want it."

"Like what?" she asked, hearing her voice all breathy with need.

He brushed the backs of his fingers along her cheek. "You know much more than you think you do, darling." He bent his head over hers and kissed her forehead tenderly. "Think about it. Really _think_ about everything that's happened. Then you tell me what you want."

Eleanor was left staring at his retreating back, chest heaving as she struggled to breathe, slick dampness between her legs. He wasn't as unaffected by her presence as he wanted to make it seem, but he was just as willing to push aside his bodily desires to prove a point.

Fuck. They were both too stubborn for words, each waiting for the other to break first.

***

She couldn't sleep. She didn't know if she was thinking of herself as Eleanor or as Eliza, or if bits of Ariadne were creeping into her dreams. She was alone, and part of her mourned that fact. She struggled to untwist herself from the sheets, suddenly aware of Eames watching her from the doorway. "What is it?" she asked, voice hoarse.

"Are you trying to tempt me?" he asked. She had to be imagining the strain in his voice; she was plain and petite, especially compared to the kind of woman he forged in dreams. She wished she was the kind of woman that could draw his eye, that could be as flawless and self assured as she pretended to be.

Eleanor managed to kick off the sheet, her thin cami pasted to her skin with sweat. The pajama bottoms only seemed to accentuate the slightness of the curves in her figure. She sat up, frowning at him. "What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know, do you?" he asked. She couldn't ignore the raw sound to his voice.

"Know what?"

He strode forward, clad in nothing but boxer briefs and knelt beside her on the bed, an expression on his face akin to wonder. Eames slid his hand along her jaw, thumb brushing across her lower lip. "How is it that you don't see what I see?"

"You see a liar."

"No," he disagreed, moving to kiss her gently.

"And that's a lie, too. I'm as much a liar as you are. Isn't that right?"

"Not for this," Eames replied before kissing her again. "That's why we just can't seem to stop this dance."

"What...?"

Eleanor's words were cut off by Eames bending down and seizing her mouth in a rougher kiss, both hands on her face to keep her mouth pressed to his. Her lips parted of their own accord, and she moaned softly when his tongue touched hers. Whatever thoughts she had about pushing him away vanished as one hand slid down her neck and chest. The heel of his palm grazed a nipple, which was absurdly sensitive and peaked at his touch. Eames groaned as well, and he pulled back to breathe. "I'm not the only one feeling this," he said

"This isn't r—"

_"Eleanor."_

His voice was a harsh, guttural moan of need, and it made Eleanor look him in the eye. There was no mask here, no smirk meant to rile her or trigger some kind of premeditated response. She licked her lips and reached up to touch his lips gently with one hand as he continued to stroke her breast. Her other hand brushed gently across the plane of his stomach, feeling the muscle beneath his skin.

Screw waiting. She wanted this _now._

She nodded without realizing she was doing it. "Eames."

"That's not... It'll do," he murmured, then dipped his mouth down to hers.

They sat on the bed facing each other, kissing and touching. Neither immediately made the move to push past that, and Eleanor found that she actually liked this. She took her time, tasting his mouth and learning the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips. There was no rush to do more, even if part of her wanted him to bring her off immediately.

Eleanor slid one hand under his waistband, palm sliding across coarse hairs until she found his semi erect cock. She grasped him lightly at first, taking in the feel of soft skin against her palm. Eames still kissed her as if his life depended on it, one hand at her hip and the other gently stroking her breast. She firmed her grip a fraction, using long strokes that left the heel of her palm brushing against his foreskin. The fingers at her hip tightened fractionally. His tongue pushed against hers, a soft noise escaping from deep in his throat.

Time stretched as they continued touching and exploring each other, Eleanor stroking the underside of his cock and teasing his balls and perineum with her fingertips. Several times their kisses broke to let them breathe, and she kissed his stubbled jaw. At other points, he pressed his lips to her pulse point or sucked at the skin above her shoulder. When her hand tightened around him as he did this, Eames jerked his hips and caught her wrist. "Keep that up, I won't get a chance to be inside you."

Moist but nowhere near satisfied, Eleanor smirked at him. "You haven't gotten me ready enough yet for that."

Eames pushed her onto her back and devoured her mouth with his. His hands slipped beneath the cami to stroke her bare skin, and she tugged it upward. He helped her take it off, then bent his head to take a breast into his mouth. He sucked gently, tongue rolling around the nipple as she gasped and arched up against him, her fingers running through his hair. Weight balanced on one forearm, he hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties. He managed to drag them down one hip but couldn't quite manage the other side. Eleanor pulled her hands away from his head and pushed at her clothes, wriggling beneath him to help shimmy out of them. 

He was larger than she was in every way, and his fingers between her spread legs traced her slick folds easily. Eames layered kisses over her skin and licked at the sensitive spots as he dragged damp fingers over her clit. He moved with exaggerated slowness, his own weeping cock brushing across the inside of her thigh. Eleanor made a soft moaning sound, fingernails scratching at his scalp as he kissed his way down her stomach. "God," she whimpered, thighs moving restlessly. She half expected him to make some kind of snarky comeback, but he didn't. Instead, his lips closed around her clit hood. As he sucked gently, his finger slid in and out. She clenched down around it, twisting beneath his mouth and pulling at the sheet. "Please," she found herself saying, eyes shut tight as the sensation overwhelmed her. "God, please, this, oh my God..."

A second finger stretched her out almost uncomfortably, but it wasn't quite enough to make her cry out in pain or make him stop. His tongue circled her clit and made lazy stripes against it as he moved his fingers slowly against the resistance. Eleanor made a soft whining sound as he did, then moved one of her own hands to stroke and squeeze a nipple. She bit her lip, tilting her hips so that there was fractionally less pressure inside of her. He caught the unspoken hint and followed the angle, curling one of his fingers slightly. That made her breath catch in her chest, and he did it again as he sucked a little harder on her clit. "Like that," she managed to gasp.

Strokes more sure, he repeated the motion as he licked at her. He moved faster as she moaned and writhed, one hand clutching at the back of his head to make sure he didn't move. He continued until she came with a sharp cry, hips bucking against his mouth. Eames sat back and licked his lips, watching her come down as he slid his fingers in and out of her. She was looser now and he wasn't as hard. He pushed into her, nearly hissing at the contact. Eleanor was tight, and there was no way he was going to last very long. Her limbs sprawled beneath him, she watched him through her eyelashes, lips parted slightly.

Eames moved slowly; he watched her lazy motions as she brushed sweaty hair from her temples and opened her eyes a little wider to watch him thrust into her. Her hands reached forward as he hovered over her, fingers brushing across his stomach gently.

"Fuck," he ground out, then pulled out of her. He was close, and he wrapped a hand around himself. Two quick pulls and then he came in spurts over her thigh and sheets. He closed his eyes and panted for a moment. Eleanor watched him, her hand resting lightly on her thigh.

"You okay?" she asked, voice steady. He nodded with his eyes closed. "You didn't have to do that," she murmured, moving so that she was propped up on her elbows. "I get the Depo-Provera shots every three months."

"Now you tell me," Eames told her, eyes opening as he smiled.

"You didn't ask," she replied, lips quirking into a smile. "But now you know." 

Eames couldn't help but laugh, eyes dancing. "So... Was it what you expected?"

Eleanor's chest tightened at the hint of vulnerability in the question, at the way he looked at her as if she could break him to pieces.

Maybe she could.

She reached for him and pulled him down for a kiss. "Yes," she murmured against his lips, feeling she wasn't as hopeless at relationships as she always thought she was. "Now let's make it even better."

He was only too willing to comply.

***

Gollhardt's office was bare except for one painting. The walls were high gloss white, and the floor to ceiling glass windows along one wall let in the absurd amount of light that was available in the middle of Amsterdam's summer. Gollhardt looked around the office, visibly disconcerted. "This is... disturbing somehow."

Eliza gave him an indulgent smile and tucked a stray lock of hair behind one ear. "It's empty, that's why. Unrepentant potential, demanding that we do something to it." She crossed her arms over her chest, sketch pad tucked tightly against her breasts. There was still a tingle there, a ghostly ache reminding her of Eames' lips and tongue. "That's why we have plans."

He looked relieved. "I'll leave you to your work then," he said, backing out of the room. He was using the office next door at the moment, not wanting to be too far away from what he was familiar with. Eliza had been counting on that.

Some things she could count on with utter certainty. This was one of those few things.

The office was to be completely redone, and Gollhardt grew tired of watching the crew work. He couldn't concentrate on his own paperwork, not with people in and out of his office all day with the security cameras and alarm systems disengaged, though he was calm enough every time he caught Eliza's gaze. His presence at the doorway seemed to urge the workers to hurry, and most of them didn't even take a decent lunch hour. Eliza herself barely ate anything as she oversaw the work, which Gollhardt found reassuring. She was just as dedicated as he was, and seemed to understand his anxiety about having his space invaded unnecessarily.

After hours, a much smaller team of two people entered the office to continue the job. Eliza had insisted that it be completed by that evening to allow the main team to begin with painting the next day.

 _Click, click,_ click.

It was amazing how high resolution camera phones could be.

***

"You're bored," Eames declared just before dinner. He had cooked a delectable rack of lamb and chosen a lovely wine to go with it. When Eleanor got back to their tiny apartment, the small table had already been set with two sets of fine china, exquisite silverware and cut crystal glasses with the wine cooling in the sterling silver bucket on the table.

It was so extravagant, and so very Eames.

"Oh?"

"Now that the danger of getting caught is past, you're bored. You want something with more action." He gave her a knowing smile as he brought the food to the table.

"I take it you got what you needed?" she asked with an arching eyebrow. She took off the suit jacket and undid the top button of her blouse, lips curling into a smile as his eyes tracked her movements. They had been precise and controlled; they would be leaving Amsterdam soon, and she had indeed been bored. Eleanor had come home, counting on Eames to at least notice that and give her some kind of distraction.

It was true that imagining his hands on her body had been far too much of a distraction during the day. Those classic suits fit him oh so well, and she had daydreamed of peeling one off of his muscled shoulders layer by layer.

Eames merely laughed, grinning fondly at her. "Gollhardt is entirely too involved in a great many things he should not be. That safe was a gold mine, and not just for the parent pharma company. There was quite a lot of information there. We're all set."

"How long before we're not the Springers anymore?" she asked, lips turning down into a frown.

His hands came to rest on her shoulders. "It doesn't necessarily end, you know."

Eleanor looked up into his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I happen to have an empty flat in desperate need of decorating. Someone I know and trust very well once told me that it isn't very lived in."

"Is it?" she asked, voice even. Her heart was in her throat, and she put her hands against his chest. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath her palms. He was serious, even as his lips curled into their familiar sardonic slant.

His thumbs brushed across her collarbone. "Come back to Mombasa with me," he said softly.

"What would it mean if I did?" she asked, voice as quiet as his.

"What do you mean?"

"Would we still be pretending to be people we're not? Is it something we don't talk about but just pretend to understand?"

Eames' eyes darkened and Eleanor felt she was drowning in them. She remembered other times she had been caught in his gaze; this time she felt less like prey and more like the predator. She couldn't tell when things had shifted between them, when they had found a more even footing.

"I don't name things. I don't list things. Sometimes putting labels on things destroys them," he said, an edge to his voice she had never heard before. "Sometimes it's enough to know that you're important, that you're one of the few things that matter to me in this entire world." His hands moved from her shoulders to her waist. "We both matter. This is important."

"Is it?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes, it is," he told her. There was sincerity in his gaze; she didn't know how she could tell it wasn't a mask, but she could. This was as open and as genuine as he knew how to be.

"So then what happens next?"

"For now? Dinner first, since I put in extra effort for you." That earned him a small smile. "And after... I hope you'll stay," he murmured. "The offer's open for as long as you want it."

Eleanor traced his jaw with her fingertips, feeling almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. "I liked what I saw of Mombasa," she murmured, running her fingers over his lips. He drew a fingertip into his mouth, his tongue touching the pad lightly. It made her think of other places that tongue had been, of all the things he was capable of. He was waiting for her, and she smiled up at him. "I'm sure you could show me all the best places, especially the ones around your apartment."

His smile was brilliant to behold, his kiss like sin. Being in his arms felt like the most natural thing in the world.

The End


End file.
